This country has become soft. And its milksop weakness extends to all races, all creeds, all religions and both ends of the political spectrum. Jesus Fucking Christ, people. I’m sick of it. Man up! What would our forebears think if they knew that the vast majority of Americans had become a bunch of prim, whiny old hags?

Glenn Beck and his retarded Teabaggers are case in point. They have no solutions for our economic crises or our health care problem. All they do is kvetch and bellyache. And they do it with lots of enthusiasm and thousands of carefully crafted blogs and opinion pieces. If they spent 1% of that energy studying the problems, seeking the advice of professionals and questioning their own conclusions, maybe we’d have some fucking consensus and meaningful answers.

But no. We get whining. Nation-wide, 4-color-process whining.

Noam Chomsky, brilliant whiner.

And don’t you leftie Democrats start getting all smug. You are about as whiny as it gets. Noam Chomsky has opposed all kinds of things and written soaring indictments of everything that has ever been wrong. Yet he has never put his ass on the line and watched with bated breath as his reputation hung in the balance. He talks and he writes and he “supports”. You douche.

The political left has all but written off Barack Obama as a sellout toady of the Pentagon and Wall Street. The way I see it, that’s what happens with EVERY president about four hours after inauguration. A group of generals and executives sits him down and explains the Way Things Are. I don’t care if Noam Chomsky himself got elected. In four hours, he’d have his staff re-draft resolutions to bomb Pakistan and lower the corporate tax rates.

Bully, I say! Bully!

Even Teddy Roosevelt, who shot lions, ate raw elephants and charged San Juan hill had to endure the cold shower of political reality. His bullish nature was cowed. So what did Teddy do? He took a long hard look at what he should do and balanced it against what he could do and ended up with his face on a mountain, glaring through his pince-nez at generations of fat, whiny Americans who barely recall what he did. At least he doesn’t whine about it!

Hunter Thompson. Be like Hunter!

Hunter Thompson had a lot to complain about. Vietnam, drug laws, Nixon and a fickle public, for starters. Yet somehow he was able to indict, decry and enlighten without being a fucking cry-baby about it. I love Hunter Thompson. Whenever I’m down and weepy, I think: WWHTD? The guy has seen more dire moments than me, yet not once did he fall apart like an autumn leaf. In the end, he took himself out rather than endure the ravages of old age. You pay the ticket, you take the ride. No whining!

You can point out failures. You can demand justice. You can compose criticisms.

But quit whining. Quit. Fucking. Whining!

1 Response to “Quit Whining!”

You’ve deftly and dutifully noted the limp simpering of liberals — they have tended to be little better than gassy jellyfish in their role as loyal opposition. And, as a former devotee to the “Chaffing Chomsky-ites,” I certainly can now sympathize with rabid right-wingers who have no patience for the erudite dronings of Ivory Tower sorts. (Big words, Ma! The bad man is using the big words agin’ and hurtin my heaid!)

The democrats are, largely, worthless turds. Despite relentlessly voting for them, they never seem to stir up a spine and really do anything better than smear a temporary salve over our largest societal wounds. So, yeah, I’m whining. Fuck you. You wanna fight about it?

What I see changing now, with the threat presented by the Kenyan fellow living in the white house, is a complete unhinging of the conservative’s flimsy moral fiber. They have far exceeded mere whining and have opted to ratchet up their shrill screeches and yowling indignity to a level that is better characterized by the foaming madness of syphylitic dogs. Every tear that leaks from their dainty and too-close eyes is a splash of liquid ambrosia I rub upon my swollen, distended, nipples. Seriously, it gets me horny. The closer they come to rapture — the inane apex of their righteous rage — the more they expose themselves as the whiny little bitches they are. They offer nothing but noise, yes, but it is the bleating sound of their death throes.